Wicked and Improper Things
by PinkFreud
Summary: She's always had a passionate nature, and now she's about to discover the extent of those passions. A short story about John and Margaret's wedding night, if they got married. Rated M for lots of fluffy, smutty goodness.
1. Chapter 1

**This is basically just a quick bit of smut, with a dash of sweetness thrown in. I watched _North and South_ and I loved it, so naturally I had to drag it down into the gutter with me, lol. It's an imagining of what might happen on John and Margaret's wedding night, if they ever got married. I liked how both characters were so passionate in their own way, so I wondered about how that passion might carry over into...other areas. Elizabeth Gaskell, you have my sincerest apologies.**

* * *

''There's something that I would like to discuss with you,'' Margaret Hale said, turning to John Thornton, who looked over at her with curiosity. ''Yes?'' he said, moving closer to her. ''What is it?'' Margaret seemed a little tense, he noticed, she was fidgeting with things on the office desk, picking them up and setting them down again quickly.

''I've been considering it,'' she told him, ''and...I think that we should marry. It would be the most practical thing to do.''

He let out a laugh at this, feeling somewhat relieved. Margaret tended to be rather unpredictable. ''Yes, it would be very _practical_. But I hope that's not the only reason. Marriage for the sake of practicality would get a little stale and boring after awhile, I expect.''

''Yes, of course. I mean,'' Margaret flushed, staring down at her shoes. Damn the man, he always seemed to befuddle her somehow, during the times when she was trying to be the most sensible. ''That wouldn't be the _only_ reason.''

''Oh really?'' John quirked an eyebrow at her.

She began to pace a little now, her skirts swishing around her ankles. ''No, we...get along very well, and we're quite...fond of each other, and...''

He got to his knees in front of her, and Margaret's breath hitched in her throat. Taking hold of her hand, John said, ''I very much value your independence. I know that you balk at the thought of marriage because you think it means that I will possess you, own you. That is far from the case. I want to cherish you, to have a partnership for life with you, because I love you, Margaret. I will never make you do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. I promise not to hold you back in any way. So,'' he smiled up at her. ''Will you be my wife? Since it is a practical thing to do, and since we are so _fond_ of each other.''

She smiled back at him. ''Yes,'' she said.

Perhaps, John thought to himself, one day, he would finally get her to say that she loved him. But until that day, fond would have to do.

* * *

In the end, Margaret's wedding day was very much like she had imagined long ago, and yet somehow a little different. It was a fine day, warm but still with a gentle breeze, a sunny morning. With very little fanfare, she put on her favourite dress, and they went to church. Fanny was very dismayed, she had wanted it all to be a grand affair, as she loved shopping and planning and parties. She couldn't understand why on earth anyone wouldn't want to make a huge celebration of their wedding, but in the end, even she had to admit that it suited the bride and groom—if only to herself.

Now all the celebrating was done and the guests had gone home, and it was just the two of them, alone together in what was now their house. Margaret had vague notions about what was to transpire on her wedding night; nobody had given her any real details, of course, but she'd heard enough talk to gather that the first time was uncomfortable. Though Margaret held this fear in the back of her mind, there was some other rogue part of her that was more curious and, admittedly, excited than anything else.

She'd undressed and gotten into her night gown. Her chestnut hair was still bound in an intricate updo at the back of her head and she felt the pressure of John's fingers as he worked to take it down, letting soft curls spill over her shoulders. Then the ties of her thin garment were undone as well and it soon fell discarded to the floor. Margaret expected to feel a chill on her bare skin but the room was quite pleasantly warm, bathed in the glow of firelight. Though her first instinct was to cover herself, the appraising look in his eyes gave her pause and made her stand still. It was a deep look, heated, some flame smouldering there. A slight tremor ran through her, skin growing suddenly flushed.

Her new husband gently took her face in his hand, running his thumb along her cheek. ''I've longed for this moment,'' he said, the words velvet and thick. Then he brought his mouth down against hers. It began as a soft kiss, a light press of lips, but then it deepened in a way that turned her knees to water. This was more than any of the kisses she'd gotten from him before. His teeth nibbled at her lower lip, his tongue slid into her mouth, flicking against hers. Pulling away just a bit, John rested his forehead against hers for a moment while Margaret's heart pounded and she tried, with some difficulty, to catch her breath. She found herself wanting him to continue, realized that she had been quite enjoying that. But before Margaret could have another thought, his hand closed over one of her breasts. Her mouth flew open in a gasp as he squeezed and fondled her, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples, which she noticed had gone quite hard, despite the lack of chill in the room. Feeling almost _too_ warm now, Margaret noticed a very new and curious sensation in her lower body, a kind of tightness, a tension that she wondered at. In a moment, John had his arms around her and had lifted her off of her feet, carrying her towards the bed. She lay back, waiting and breathing as he settled himself beside her and resumed his earlier actions.

''You are exquisite,'' he told her, the words rough and soft, sending a tremor dancing over her skin. ''Everything I ever could have wanted.'' His lips met the column of her neck, kissing a heated trail downwards until his mouth replaced his hand on her breast. Margaret hadn't been expecting this, nor the sudden, admittedly pleasant sensations that accompanied the act. His tongue swirled and flicked at her as he sucked lazily. Margaret's fingers tangled in his hair, not sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. That strange tugging feeling between her legs was growing, building every time his tongue laved at her. His teeth gently grazed her nipple and a small moan issued from Margaret's throat. She certainly hadn't thought that _this_ would be part of her wedding night. So far, she had to admit, it was a pleasant surprise.

She felt his hand on her knee then, gently guiding her legs apart. Hesitation flooded her, hesitation threaded with something else, some as yet unnamed wicked feeling. Fingers climbed, moving over her thigh then dipping into that hidden juncture. ''Oh!'' she cried out, startled, as he pressed against some delightful place that Margaret hadn't really known was there. He continued to stroke her and rub her, stoking the fire that seemed to keep building and building.

John was pleasantly surprised and then elated at the way she was responding to him. He'd been more than a little apprehensive, not knowing how his headstrong and stubborn wife would react. Yet, he knew that she was passionate, that was obvious, there was most definitely a sensual creature lurking beneath all her reservations. He was sure that he could coax that part out of her—if she would let him. And Margaret certainly seemed to be letting him; she was enjoying it if he wasn't mistaken. The soft lush curves of her body were driving him wild, she was so beautiful laid out before him in the firelight, his at last. He kept manipulating that little nub of secret flesh, feeling it swell under his fingers, thrilling at the growing dampness of her arousal. John stopped then, having something else in mind.

''Please don't stop!'' Margaret found herself crying out, then clamped a hand over her mouth, blushing, feeling so very wanton as his eyes locked with hers. She hadn't meant to sound desperate, but those...sensations that he was pulling out of her were new and wonderful and she was a combination of ashamed and thrilled. As he shrugged out of his shirt, her breath caught in her throat at how beautiful he actually was, how strong-looking. It was as if that moment she was seeing him for the first time. Whatever Margaret surmised might happen next, she certainly did not expect what John did. Pressing kisses down her stomach, slowly his head dipped lower and just as she began to wonder what on earth he was doing—that was when she felt his mouth against her most intimate place. Shocked, she stiffened for a moment. Surely, this wasn't a common occurrence, she thought. Decent people couldn't _really_ \- Then all coherent thought flew out of her mind as he continued to do very wicked and improper things. His tongue moved against her as he kissed and licked and sucked. The pleasure was sinful, she was sure, but Margaret couldn't stop the way that her body was reacting. It seemed to no longer be under her control. Her fingers fisted in his dark hair, urging him on now, towards what she didn't know, only that the feeling was rising inside of her from some dark and heated core, the pressure so burning, so heavenly.

Still working at her with his mouth, John slid a long finger inside her tight channel, biting back a groan at the way her inner walls clutched around him in response. Margaret wanted. She wanted _him_. It made John dizzy to realize this. His body ached, he couldn't wait to be buried inside of her to the hilt, but that would come later. He was a patient man after all. And he wanted her to have this first, to know that he could give her what she needed. Pushing a second finger in alongside the first, he slowly began to move them in and out, creating a rhythm. Margaret found that she quite enjoyed this new feeling of being filled, of having something inside of her virgin sex. Almost unconsciously she began to rock her hips in time with the motion of his fingers, bringing herself against his mouth, needing more. Inside, she felt his fingers curl, touch _something_ , deep. Then Margaret began to uncoil. She trembled and shuddered, legs shaking. Spasm after spasm raced through her, wild flutters of pleasure as she ground down on his hand, his name spilling from her lips in a cry.

She found her eyes drawn to the very large bulge in the front of his trousers and, prompted by some impulse that Margaret didn't quite understand, she reached her hand out and closed it over him. John bit back a moan and she instantly pulled away, chewing on her lip as she watched him remove his last articles of clothing. Soon he was completely bare before her and she could see now what she had just touched, long and thick and hard. Margaret assumed that her mind was still addled from what he had just done to her, because she was staring in a way that was positively indecent and yes, perhaps she was apprehensive, that looked like it might hurt her indeed, it was so large that she had her doubts it would fit—but she wasn't at all repulsed the way that she had expected to be before they lay down together. In fact, that heated, throbbing feeling was beginning again, rising up from the depths of her loins to torture her. For a moment, Margaret wondered if there was something wrong with her, if she was wicked. Her hand reached out again, closing over hot flesh. He felt so interesting, a combination of hard and silky soft. John couldn't believe her boldness, it nearly stopped his heart when her fingers wrapped around him, tentatively exploring. He couldn't let her keep it up, though, or this would all end embarrassingly soon.

''Margaret,'' he said in a tight voice, taking hold of her hand. Her eyes flew to his as she broke out of her daze. ''I'm sorry,'' she answered, blinking. ''Am I not to-'' her face flushed deeper.

''No, no,'' he assured her. ''You may. I'm very, very pleased by your touch but it is for that reason that I must ask you to stop. If we are to properly consummate this marriage, that is,'' he added.

''Oh,'' she said.

He climbed into bed, positioning himself over her. Now Margaret felt nervous tremors all through her, though they were not wholly unpleasant. Then she could feel...him at her entrance. Very slowly, he began to ease inside. It was an odd feeling at first, as she adjusted, her muscles stretching in a way that they hadn't before. There was something very interesting about the sensation, though. He pushed in a little further, then withdrew, then back in again, more, until she felt a pressure. Leaning his head down, he spoke softly into her ear. ''It'll only last for a moment, darling, I'm sorry,'' and then Margaret let out a strangled cry as she felt a brief but very sharp tearing, burning sensation. It was, though, far less painful than she'd been led to believe. In fact, last week she'd accidentally closed the parlour door on her hand, and that was far worse, and then when she'd jabbed herself with a sewing needle...

Now the pain of this...act was already fading and Margaret could just feel...him. And he felt...not awful at all. In fact, now that the initial intrusion was passed, her body seemed to be welcoming him. John started to move, that same slow motion, in and out, back and forth, and each stroke began small, pleasant little tingles and throbs in some deep and secret place that he seemed to be brushing against before he retreated. In an effort to encourage that new sensation, she moved her body against his, rocking up her hips at an angle so that when John plunged back inside of her he touched that place again. The feeling built, grew.

John looked down at his wife, feeling so much love suddenly that he thought his soul might tear. He had worried so over this, agonized for days that she would hate his touch, reject him, that he would be rough or clumsy or hurt her. He never thought, never dared to think that she...oh, she wanted him, wanted this.

Yet another storm was brewing inside of her; Margaret could feel it, more than the first. She moved against John even more vigorously and he responded in kind. Their bodies crashed together in meeting and she clamped down around him hard, drawing him in just perfectly so, and then she cried out, a soft wail of pleasure that was utter music to his ears. That was all it took to finish him, and he held her trembling body close as they reached the peak together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who read this story, I honestly didn't expect that anyone would! Anyhow, I decided to add another chapter, just because. Very M rated. Again, so sorry Mrs. Gaskell. ;)**

* * *

 **The Next Day**

Margaret climbed into the bath, grateful for the warmth of the water, which soothed her muscles. Leaning back her head, she allowed herself a moment to relax and let her mind wander. She certainly had a lot to process. Her thoughts drifted to the previous night, her wedding night. Margaret had never experienced anything like that before and it had left her breathless and startled. Curious. And admittedly, excited. Her body was starting to grow heated now, and it wasn't merely from the hot water. Hesitating for a moment, Margaret finally raised her hand and tentatively brushed it against her breast. A delicious shiver danced through her at the touch. She hadn't ever realized before that they were so...sensitive, that, when touched properly, could elicit such a response. John, it seemed, had awakened Margaret to her body's potential. She wondered what more there was to know, what else she might be able to feel. Squeezing experimentally, she she rolled her thumb over her nipple, which was now standing up. She pinched it, and this sent a pleasant twinge down between her legs.

Margaret's eyes darted around the room, feeling shy and naughty but still so very curious. The curiosity eventually won out, though, and her other hand slowly slipped down under the water, seeking out that place where John had touched her last night, the place that had felt so good. She found it, that little nub, pressed her fingers against it, feeling a lovely little rush of pleasure when she did so. Biting her lip, Margaret wondered if she should dare go farther. This most definitely was not proper conduct for a young lady, she was certain, but it felt far too good. She succumbed to temptation, moving her fingers in a circular motion, slow at first and then more quickly. Her eyes fluttered closed at the building rush of pleasure. She found herself thinking of John, of that impressive organ between his legs. Her hand picked up its pace, spurred on by these imaginings. It made her want something inside of her, so Margaret took one of her fingers and slowly pushed it in, trying to adjust to the barrage of sensation. She'd never explored her own body this much before. The stimulation was too much to bear and she climaxed suddenly, letting out a little cry, her legs thrashing in the water as her inner walls spasmed and clutched around her finger. She slowly calmed, panting, her heart steadying itself. The bath had gone cold.

Later that evening, John noticed that Margaret was acting rather strange, nervous and almost bashful. She was pacing a bit, moving around the room and adjusting the curtains and so on, a clear sign that she was thinking too deeply about something. ''What is it?'' asked John with curiosity, setting aside the book he was reading. His wife was blushing now, he saw, ducking her head. ''I...''

It was oddly endearing, the way that she could speak so boldly about certain matters, but others reduced her to a shy, meek thing. He stood with a sigh and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. ''Margaret, look at me. I am your husband. You can confide in me; you can tell me anything, and you mustn't be ashamed.''

Slowly, she nodded and then began. ''Well, after...after what we did last night, I found myself...feeling certain things, new things, and I was curious.''

A smile crept over John's face as he wondered where this might be leading. ''Curiosity is natural,'' he spoke gently, encouragingly. Margaret's face grew even redder.

''Yes, well,'' she continued with a little cough, ''when I was in the bath, I found that I was thinking about last night, and my body began to...respond, so I started to touch myself as you touched me,'' this admission came breathlessly. John was still and quiet for a moment, the look he gave her was deep and burning. ''Show me,'' he said finally.

''What?'' asked Margaret, brow furrowing in surprise.

''Come into the bedroom and show me. I too am curious. I would like to see what you did.''

''Very well,'' she responded. Her heart had begun to quicken its pace. John took her by the hand and led her down the hall to their bedroom and closed the door. With slightly trembling fingers Margaret removed her dress and undergarments, aware of his eyes on her as she did so. Once she was settled on the bed, he took a seat at the end and waited, watching expectantly.

''I began like this,'' Margaret said, closing a hand over one of her breasts, mimicking her earlier actions. ''And did you enjoy that?'' asked John. She nodded. ''I did. I can't really explain why, though.''

''Our bodies were designed to make such things pleasurable, it is natural,'' he told her, feeling his cock straining at the front of his pants from the sight of what he had awakened in her. ''And then what did you do?''

Shy flutter of a movement, Margaret's other hand crept down to the thatch of hair between her legs, fingers moving over herself. John sucked in a sharp breath. ''Open your eyes,'' he commanded. With some hesitation, she obeyed, but then he saw her gaze drop lower, to the aching erection tenting his trousers. If he wasn't mistaken, her hand moved a little more quickly, and John felt a powerful jolt of lust sock him in the lower gut. She wanted him. If there was any doubt about this still lingering, it had now vanished completely. Deciding to test the waters, he moved up on the bed, closer to Margaret. Then he undid his pants and allowed his cock to spring free, taking himself in hand. Margaret licked her lips, an unconscious reflex. She felt a storm building inside of her, the...feelings coming more quickly now that John had forced her to open her eyes and look at him. She was getting incredibly wet, Margaret realized, there was moisture all over her fingers, continuing to gather. When he undid his pants, and she saw it, a powerful shiver went dancing through her body, making her want to rub that spot even harder.

''Spread your legs further,'' he said hotly. ''Let me get a look at you.''

Adjusting herself, Margaret splayed her legs wider, showing her most intimate place to him.

''I'm...I'm so wet,'' she confessed to him. John smiled. ''That is a good thing. It is your body's way of showing that it is excited, stimulated. Like mine,'' he adding, wrapping a hand around his shaft. ''Our bodies are craving each other. It is a perfectly natural thing,'' he reiterated as he began to stroke himself. ''It is how we were created.''

He continued as she watched, transfixed, while continuing to rub herself. When Margaret pushed a finger inside of her damp channel, he almost lost his mind. John had been aroused all day, thinking about her, and now to see her like this... Unconsciously, he moved closer. He was almost close enough for Margaret to touch, and she most definitely wanted to, but it seemed that now was not the time. For now, they were locked into this strange, erotic moment of observation.

Suddenly a spasm wracked her body as she started to come. Her hips bucked, her legs trembled and thrashed in the sheets as she writhed in a most unladylike way, overtaken by sensation. As her orgasm began to taper off, Margaret looked over at John. His hand was now moving even faster, and then he moaned, the sound heating her already simmering blood. His head fell back slightly, his face a mask of ecstasy. She watched as his cock twitched in his grip, then as thick, hot white liquid came shooting out of the tip and splattered all along her breasts and belly. After he came out of his daze and back to reality, John was briefly horrified as he saw what he had allowed himself to do...defiling her in such a way—and only on the second night of their marriage!

Hurrying over to the basin, he grabbed a wash cloth. With slightly shaking hands, he went to clean her off, but John could not deny the jolt of unholy lust that rocked him at the sight of his cum covering her lush body. Margaret didn't seem to be disgusted by this, oddly enough, only rather curious. She reached up and touched the substance, her own juices on her fingers now mingling with his. His heart almost stopped.

Truth be told, Margaret had actually been oddly aroused by what had just happened. A small smile lingered around the corners of her mouth as she allowed John to wipe away the traces of their lovemaking from her skin. _He_ seemed shy and awkward now, she noticed. It was almost sweet. She reached out and took hold of his arm. His blue-grey eyes met hers when he felt the soft press of her fingers. ''Come and lie down with me,'' she said, and some of the worry melted away from his expression. ''As you wish,'' he said, climbing into bed beside her. Margaret cuddled against his chest, resting her head there and listening to the steady thudding of his heart. She was quiet for a moment, then spoke.

''I feel...very warm and very content,'' she began. It is a new thing, that contentedness. It went away for some time, everything felt so...cold and roug''h and gray. I feel better now. Complete, or almost at least.'' She smiled. ''Forgive me, I do go on so.''

''Share your thoughts with me,'' he said. He ran his fingers along her soft cheek. ''Go on as long as you like.''

''Was I terribly cruel to you in the beginning?'' she asked. ''I feel that I was. I judged you too harshly.''

''Perhaps I needed it,'' he answered honestly. ''We both learned a good deal from each other, I expect. And no, you weren't _terribly_ cruel. A bit aggravating and stubborn at times perhaps, but I came to love that about you, your passion, your sense of right and wrong. I just...'' John cleared his throat and continued. ''To be honest, I assumed for the longest time that you were...repulsed by me. In every way.''

''No,'' Margaret answered quietly. ''It was not like that.''

He looked down at her with curiosity. ''I didn't quite know how to...I was, from time to time, having very strong feelings about you. They troubled me, to be perfectly honest.''

His eyebrows raised. ''Why? What was so troubling about them?''

''They were...well, you see, they were not entirely proper. That is, they were not the sorts of thoughts that a young lady should be having. I was very captivated by you. And infuriated, as well.'' She laughed lightly. ''I am not the only stubborn one.''

''We compliment each other nicely, I think,'' John said, leaning down to kiss his wife's forehead.

''That we do,'' Margaret said, closing her eyes and allowing herself to fall into a deep sleep.


End file.
